


the care and keeping of your john b

by buddhaghost



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JJ Needs a Hug, JJ is a good friend, John B Needs A Hug, Literal Sleeping Together, Pre-Canon, soft, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddhaghost/pseuds/buddhaghost
Summary: JJ grew up with the reputation of ‘the kid that just won’t shut up’. The kid that teachers dreaded having in class. He knows how to change the subject on a dime, rambling inanely about just about anything in order to distract, entertain, diffuse tension, avoid attention. It was his defense when he was young and scrawny, and by the time he grew taller and stronger, it was just a part of him. So, when JJ notices John B starting to act similarly, to speak about nothing in hopes of distracting the rest of them, it was definitely a red flag.___John B is not okay in the weeks after his dad disappears, and JJ notices.
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge
Comments: 22
Kudos: 180





	the care and keeping of your john b

JJ mentions it to Kiara first, the thing about John B and how he shouldn’t be left alone, not under any circumstances. It’s been three weeks since Big John disappeared, and even though John B was constantly insisting that he was fine, JJ has known John B since they were seven, has known how much John B idolized his dad, and knows how devastated he is, even though he isn’t exactly showing it. But just like John B is capable of seeing through JJ when it matters most, JJ can do the same, and right now, his friend is _not_ fine. John B is more capable than most when it comes to repressing the shit out of everything, but that is JJ’s goddam specialty, and he can see the bags under John B’s eyes, the minute trembling of his hands, the hours of quiet pacing when he thinks everyone else is asleep. JJ sees when he tries to hide it behind manic energy, insisting they go surfing, or fishing, or just fuck around and drink on the boat until the sun sets, or offering to throw parties, bribing Oliver at the local beer n’ bait shop to turn a blind eye to the date on his ID. And the thing is, while John B is pretty good at things like this, insisting that he’s fine through too-forced smiles and too-tired eyes, creating distractions left and right, JJ is better. And that means he can see through John B’s bullshit. Simple as that.

JJ grew up with the reputation of ‘the kid that just won’t shut up’. The kid that teachers dreaded having in class. He knows how to change the subject on a dime, rambling inanely about just about anything in order to distract, entertain, diffuse tension, avoid attention. It’s the one perk of having a goddam motor-mouth; when you talk too much, people learn to look away, to roll their eyes, to avoid looking too deeply. When he was younger, all it did was serve to get him in trouble, notes sent home from school (which were always disposed of _before_ he got home, he didn’t have a _death wish_ ), cuffs on the back of the head when he couldn’t ramp it down once he _was_ home, annoyed eye-rolls from almost every adult who dared pay more attention to him than the passing ‘that Maybank boy has got quite the mouth’. It was his defense when he was young and scrawny, and by the time he grew taller and stronger, it was just a part of him. So, when JJ notices John B starting to act similarly, to speak about nothing in hopes of distracting the rest of them, it was definitely a red flag.

So, Kiara and Pope must’ve noticed something, too, and it’s really just due to chance that JJ goes to Kie first, biking to the Wreck before he even consciously realizes he’s doing it. She’s pretty good at the whole ‘helping-deal-with-trauma’ thing from what he can tell, and definitely knows how to be comforting, much more than JJ considers himself capable of. And he knows she’s been concerned as all hell for John B since Big John’s gone missing, which means she would actually listen to JJ about this, rather than blowing him off or rolling her eyes like she would if he were talking about pretty much anything else.

It’s late afternoon when JJ wanders into the Wreck, earning a sharp glance from Kiara’s dad, even though he turns and calls into the kitchen for Kiara almost immediately. When she appears, she looks mildly exasperated when her eyes land on JJ.

“What’s up?” She asks, coming around from behind the counter. “And before you ask, no, we don’t accept ‘a lifetime of gratitude’ as payment for meals.” Her tone is light, a gleam in her eye as she referred to a time earlier in the year when JJ had asked just that. Even as she says it, though, she hands JJ one of the Wreck’s home-baked rolls.

“Woah, believe it or not I didn’t actually come here for food,” JJ says, before his brain catches up and he accepts the free food. It’s still warm. “But thanks.”

Kiara leads him outside, where they weave through patrons enjoying their late afternoon lobster rolls or whatever it is that the Wreck serves as their specialty of the day, and the two come to a stop halfway down the dock, where customers can dock up if they arrived by boat. Kiara looks up at him expectantly, eyes squinted against the sun. “So, what’s up?”

JJ suddenly finds himself at a loss for words. Kiara’s eyes are so _goddam_ earnest that sometimes when he’s speaking with her, he just wants to get down on his knees and bare his entire soul or something for her judgement. But this isn’t about _him_ , this is about John B.

“It’s John B,” he says, watching as her expression quickly morphs to concern. “I don’t think he should be left alone.”

Kiara draws her eyebrows down, clearly thinking. “We don’t leave him alone,” she says, even though JJ knows it’s not true because John B is alone _right now_. JJ had gone to the _Chateau_ before seeking Kiara out, as is his daily routine these days, but John B hadn’t been home. The boat was gone too, meaning he’d taken it out somewhere. “I mean, I agree, of course, but what do you mean? Do you think he’s…” her voice drops. “Is he in danger? Or like, a danger to himself?”

JJ scoffs, twisting away from her expressive face. “God, I don’t know. I just mean that the dude’s going through a pretty tough time right now, you know? He shouldn’t have to be alone.” He doesn’t want to think about John B, who’s steadiness and self-assuredness and stability has been like a security blanket since they were kids, going through a downward spiral. That’s JJ’s job, being the unstable friend.

Kiara nods easily, like they’re discussing the weather and not the wellbeing of their closest friend. That’s something JJ loves about Kie; her steadfast acceptance, calm demeanor in the face of difficulty. “Of course,” she repeats. “So, what exactly do you have in mind? We all already hang out, like, every day.”

Though the other pogues might not agree, JJ always has a plan. Whether he share’s it with them or not is dependent on the circumstances, but he is constantly weighing the pros and cons of every situation. Mostly. Okay, mainly when it comes to the wellbeing of his friends. So _of course_ he’s made a plan for this. He calls it the “Guide to the Care and Keeping of your John B”.

“Well, for starters,” JJ says, clapping his hands together authoritatively, “daytime is one thing. Nights are a different story.” Filled with trying to wrangle John B into going to bed, which JJ is rarely successful in doing. “I don’t even know if our boy sleeps in his bed, alright? He’s always up, doing something. Like, I got up to take a piss at three in the morning and he almost gave me a heart attack just sitting in the kitchen, going through some journal like it was a school day.”

He can already see the gears in Kie’s head turning as she processes this. “He has been looking pretty tired,” she acknowledges, and JJ knows she’s thinking of the same thing he is; the deep bags beneath John B’s eyes, the exhaustion that seems to weigh him down physically. Her eyes harden as she looks back at JJ. “Okay, so what we need is a schedule. Each night, at least one of us is with him. Make sure he sleeps, eats, takes care of himself, the usual.”

JJ snaps, shooting finger guns to emphasize his agreement. See, this is how it normally goes; JJ has an idea and has either Pope or John B or Kie execute it, depending on the situation. Bonus points if they think it’s their original idea. “You’re a goddam genius,” JJ says with only a hint of a mocking tone, starting to head back to where he left his bike. “I’m gonna head back to the _Chateau_ , see you there once you get off?’

Kiara flashes him a double thumbs up. “Operation Babysitting John B is a go,” she says, her tone light, and dammit if JJ doesn’t wish they were just joking about all of this. But unfortunately, nothing in life ever seems to go the way one plans.

JJ mimes holding a walkie-talkie, imitating the crackling sound it would emit before speaking. “Copy that, madam president. Over and out.”

***

When JJ pulls up to the Chateau, having come directly here with the intention of chilling until John B made his reappearance rather than going home, he can tell immediately that something is off. The glaring indication: the goddam sheriff’s car parked next to Big John’s classic Volkswagen bus.

“Fuck,” JJ swears, hopping off his bike. If the police were here, that could only mean one of two things; either they’d found Big John, or they’d figured out that John B’s uncle wasn’t staying here, and in fact hadn’t been up to the Outer Banks in years. He wasn’t sure which was better, but regardless, John B needed him.

JJ bounds up the porch with ease, pushing through the screen door that was always open, ready to burst into the middle of whatever was going on and interrupt it, JJ style. But to his surprise, he’s met with just the sheriff, sitting at the kitchen table looking over some papers that had been left out. She looks up coolly as JJ made his entrance, evidentially neither impressed nor surprised to see him. John B is nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Maybank,” she says, folding her hands on the table and regarding him evenly. “Not who I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

JJ can feel his pulse racing; talking to cops always has that effect on him. He leans casually in the doorway, trying not to look as caught off-guard as he feels. “Peterkin,” he says, mustering a jovial voice as he gestures absently, searching for words. “What, uh, what brings you here? To this humble abode?”

“The same as you,” Sheriff Peterkin says. “I wanted to check up on our mutual friend John B. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

JJ is shaking his head before she even finishes the question. “Nope,” he says, popping the p. “I mean, no ma’am, no idea. I think he and his old uncle T went out fishing, as far as I can tell. I was just rushing over to start making some dinner, get some grub on the table, preheat the oven, stir the soup, what have you.” He knows he’s rambling, pulse jackrabbiting in his ears, and Peterkin’s stone-like face is not helping.

“Cut the shit,” she says sharply, and JJ’s mouth snaps shut. “Now, you and I both know that old uncle T ain’t here, and I am pretty certain that he ain’t on his way, neither. And as there’s been no news on Big John, that leaves John B here in a bit of a predicament.” Her dark eyes are staring at JJ imploringly, as if she’s trying to communicate something without words. “Now, because I simply have too many other things going on to deal with at the moment to wait for John B to drag his sorry ass back home, I’m going to take my leave.” JJ barely stops himself from looking heavenward and praising any god that might listen at that. “But I’d like you to pass along a message.”

She stands up, and JJ scrambles over himself to get out of the way as she approaches the door. “You tell John B that whether he likes it or not, Big John is dead. Not even Jesus himself could survive out at sea for five and a half weeks. It’ll only be a matter of time until DCS gets their act together and moves in.”

By now, she’s standing in front of JJ. Though they’re about the same height, the woman is terrifying, even in her smart green sheriff’s outfit and low bun. She raises a hand, and JJ flinches imperceptibly, but all she does is lay a light finger on his cheekbone, right beneath his eye. Internally, JJ curses himself out, knowing what she’s seeing; the faded remnants of a bruise, yellowing now and nearly gone, but still painting a picture of what happened. Finding himself too scared to say anything, all JJ can do is hold his breath as she removes her hand and steps back. Desperately, he hopes she accuses him of getting into fights, or assumes some kook got the upper hand at a late-night kegger.

“Take care of yourself, JJ,” is all she says. “You’re no use to John B if you fall apart too.” And with that, she steps out, letting the screen door swing shut behind her.

JJ listens for the sound of her truck to pull away before he allows himself to sag against the doorway in relief, taking slow, measured breaths in an effort to slow his heart rate. Peterkin has been a presence in his life since he was a child, always hovering on the periphery but never coming in fully to interfere. JJ remembers the one time the cops _did_ show up at his house, around when he was eleven, off a ‘tip from a neighbor’. JJ’s dad had been cordial, a little gruff as they had interrupted his work day, and JJ had watched quietly from his room, where he was pretending to read a book, while they did a sweep of the house. What they were looking for, JJ wasn’t sure at the time; all he really remembers is his father’s stern face and crossed arms as he stood in the doorway of JJ’s room while the cops came in to talk with him. JJ’s eyes had kept flicking from Peterkin’s face to his fathers as he sat, hunched over his bruised ribs, struggling to keep his breath even. While his father scared him, the threat of what the police could do to him scared him even more.

Sighing, JJ runs a hand through his hair. Peterkin is pesky at best, downright diabolical at worst. If she’s up in John B’s business, that can’t mean anything good. And John B, bless his little heart, is too wrapped up in his own issues to even realize it.

Shaking his head, JJ grabs a PBR off the side table and heads outside, cracking it open as he heads down to the dock. The beer is warm, sliding down his throat thickly, and the air is muggy, but JJ takes a seat at the end of the dock regardless, letting his legs hang over the marshy water as he waits for John B to come home.

JJ’s nearly fallen asleep, PBR long since emptied and tossed to the side as he stretched out languidly on the dock, when the familiar chug of the HMS Pogue rouses him, followed almost immediately by John B’s voice.

“JJ?” He calls, his voice sounding hoarse, tired. JJ groans as he sits up, shading his eyes with one had as he watches his friend pull in.

“That’s me,” he responds as John B tosses him the rope, dutifully tying the boat up to the dock. “Where the hell have you been?”

John B doesn’t answer immediately, making himself busy by tidying up before he hops off. JJ takes the opportunity to get a good look at his friend, taking in his sunburned cheeks, the explosion of freckles across them, the sunken bags beneath his eyes that rival JJ’s bruise. The usual bandana isn’t tied around his wrist, and JJ zeroes in on the slight tremor in his friend’s hand, the bruised, swollen knuckles.

“Dude, what the fuck happened?” JJ demands, jumping into the boat and grabbing John B’s hand, pulling it closer to inspection. “Lose a fight with a coastguard?”

John B huffs out a laugh. “Something like that,” he says, before gently removing his hand from JJ’s grip and stepping onto the dock. JJ follows, not ready to let it go just yet. John B is no stranger to black-and-blues, as were all the pogues, but JJ considers himself the expert in the art of bruising. John B’s knuckles were raw, still bloody in some places. It was clear he’d beat at something, though JJ wasn’t sure yet what. If he had to guess, though, it was one of two things; a kook or a wall. Given that there weren’t any other bruises visible on John B’s body (not that that meant there _weren’t_ any, because JJ is all too familiar with bruises that hide under clothing), he feels safe in making the guess that John B had punched a wall, hard, multiple times.

“No, seriously, you take your anger out on a cactus or something?” he asks jokingly, slinging an arm around John B’s neck. “Cause if so, I’ve got many a life lesson coming your way.”

John B rolled his eyes. “No, JJ, nothing like that. Just a stupid mistake.” Rather than elaborate, the other boy collapsed onto the hammock, face first. JJ sank down next to him.

“Alright, no biggy, don’t tell uncle JJ what you’ve been up to,” JJ says. “But just so you know, Peterkin was here earlier.”

That got John B’s attention. He groans loudly, flipping onto his back so his face was free. “Jesus, again? I’m starting to think she’s got a fixation or something.”

“Hang on, she’s been here before?” JJ asks seriously. John B grins humorlessly.

“Yeah, she was here last week. Wanted to talk to old uncle T.”

“Dude, what did you tell her?” JJ can’t believe this was the first time he was hearing this, nor can he believe John B’s casualness about the whole thing.

“Eh, I said he was out, told her to come back in a few days,” John B says, waving his hand dismissively. “Guess it’s been a few days, huh? Hey, what do you –”

“Jesus, JB!” JJ interrupts. “How stupid are you? This woman thinks you’re a goddam orphan, some kid that needs saving! DCS is going to descend on your ass if you’re not careful!” JJ looks at his friend, who has covered his face with both his hands, shoulders shaking. “You think this is funny, huh? Just a joke? John B, if you continue like this, and I say this as your best friend, you’re fucked!”

John B brings his hands away from his face, and JJ can see that while his shoulders were shaking with laughter, his eyes are bright with unshed tears. “You think I don’t know that?” John B says, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes seek out JJ’s. JJ is struck again with how goddam _tired_ John B looks. As if someone has switched a light off that has always been on. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” John B admits, voice wavering just the slightest but otherwise sounding as if he’s admitting he doesn’t know what to have for dinner. Casual, acceptance. “Everyone keeps telling me that my dad is dead. The police, the kooks, everyone. But I _know_ he’s not. He wouldn’t…” John B’s voice cracks here, and he clears his throat nonchalantly before continuing. “He wouldn’t leave me like this. I know it, I just do.”

JJ is silent, marveling in his friend’s conviction, his belief in his own father. Personally, JJ agrees with the rest of the island; there’s no way that Big John is alive and hasn’t somehow contacted his son, or anyone for that matter. It just didn’t make sense. But John B is still staring at him, eyes searching JJ’s imploringly, and JJ suddenly realizes he’s looking for _comfort_. From _JJ_ of all people. Normally, the roles are completely reversed; JJ comes to John B, and John B alone when things with his dad get bad, confiding in him the worst of what’s happened. But John B has never really needed JJ in the same way, and he’s suddenly nervous about the responsibility that it comes with, the unwavering faith that John B seems to have as he stares up at him.

Uncomfortable, JJ looks away, his hand coming to pat John B’s shoulder twice. “I know, buddy, I know,” he says, and hates himself for it. Goddam coward. Where is Kiara, Pope? Either of them is better at this than he is. He can’t give John B what he needs right now.

They sit in relative silence, listening to the water lapping at the legs of the dock and the beating wings of the gnats hanging in the air. JJ’s counted to fifty reasons as to why he hates himself, sucking at his lips before risking a glance down at John B. To his surprise, his friend’s eyes are closed, long lashes almost touching his cheekbones, his face relaxed. But as JJ watches, John B’s eyes flicker open again, hazy, before drifting closed. This cycle repeats itself a few more times before JJ finally asks, “Dude, when’s the last time you slept?”

John B doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, JJ’s stomach plummets with John B’s words. “When was the last time you spent the night?” He asks, eyes sliding shut again.

Fuck. That was four nights ago, when JJ had come over after getting into an argument with his father, the same argument that resulted in the now fading bruise under his eye and a few more beneath his shirt. He remembered the night hazily, body crashing after the adrenaline that always follows a fight, but he recalls John B letting him in, getting him ice and a beer and a change of clothes, ushering JJ into his own room, onto his own bed. JJ had made him lie down with him – they’ve been friends since they were seven, and have been sharing a bed since then when the situation called for it too – and JJ now remembers the way that John B had fallen asleep almost instantly, body going limp as he crashed. But, if that was the last time John B had slept…

“You haven’t slept in _four days_?” JJ screeches incredulously, not even feeling badly when John B jolts with his raised voice. “Dude, what the fuck? How is that even possible?”

John B sits up, and JJ can see the struggle to keep his eyes open. “I’ve slept since then!” He says indignantly, but JJ can see the color rising to his cheeks, the defensive look in his exhausted eyes.

“Lie,” JJ says simply, raising a hand to cut off John B’s protest as he opens his mouth. “You are a lying liar who lies, and you should be ashamed.”

John B’s mouth snaps shut, and he glares at JJ before pushing himself off the hammock. “Fuck you,” he calls over his shoulder with no real heat as JJ scrambles to his feet after him.

He catches up with John B in an instant, following him through the sagging screen door to the _Chateau_. He brings his hands down onto John B’s shoulders, resolutely not letting the other boy shake him off as he steers him towards his bedroom. “You, my friend, are officially my captive,” JJ says, internally taking note of how John B isn’t actually even fighting him, despite his annoyed scoffs. He lets JJ lead him to his room, lead him to his bed, and he doesn’t protest when JJ pushes him down onto the covers, still rumpled from whenever the last time John B laid down was, which, apparently, was _four nights ago_. JJ follows John B down, draping his body over his friends so that his cheek rests on John B’s salty curls.

They lay like that for a moment before John B grunts, “Um, JJ? What the hell are you doing?”

JJ just sighs and rubs his cheek against John B’s head, grinning. “Like I said, you are my captive, and it is my duty to make sure you don’t rise from this bed until you’ve slept at least six hours.” John B makes a noise of protest, or maybe amusement, but at this point his voice is so weak JJ can’t be sure.

“Okay, JJ, I get it,” John B says after a moment. “You can get off now.” When JJ makes no move to do so, John B grunts, trying to flip his friend off, but four consecutive days of no sleep have taken their toll, and even JJ’s scrawny ass can pin his exhausted friend. “JJ? I promise I won’t get up. But I can’t really breathe.”

At that, JJ chuckles and rolls off John B, landing so that the two are facing each other. John B’s eyes are open, but just barely as he watches JJ. “You better not move,” JJ warns, only half-joking. “Cause I’ll be watching this door like a hawk, and you better believe that I’m not afraid to go ninja on your ass if you so much as try to creep out.”

John B laughs, more of an exhale than anything, as his eyes slip closed. JJ watches him for a second before moving to roll off the bed, but is stopped when John B’s fingers close around his wrist, light enough that JJ could easily break the grip if he wanted, but firm enough to let JJ know what he wanted. “Stay,” John B says, voice barely above a whisper. JJ thinks to his conversation with Kie, their agreement that John B should not be left alone under any circumstances. He supposes that this falls under that category too.

“Please,” John B adds, and dammit, JJ wasn’t a softy but if John B could lay with him when he was hurting and tired and scared and sad, he could do the same for John B.

“I gotcha buddy,” JJ whispers, stretching out so that the two are laying side by side. He shifts his hands just enough so that John B’s grip is no longer on his wrist but their fingers are intertwined loosely. John B tightens his grip for a moment before it relaxes, his breathing evening out into a smooth rhythm, face lax against the pillows, and JJ knows that he is asleep. He searches his friend’s face for a moment, which looks years younger without the added stress of his daily life showing through, forehead smooth from worry lines and cheeks rosy with sunburn. He looks like any sixteen year old boy, a kid who wants to go to school and kiss a cute girl and maybe go to college, not the kid who JJ knows, who’s been abandoned by his mom and now by his dad and can’t seem to let it go, no matter what people tell him. The kid who has been there for JJ since the start, who saw the first bruises his dad left on him and who has been there for every one since. Who relishes in adventure and excitement and all the same things that JJ does, who offers his home to JJ consistently, without question.

Closing his own eyes, JJ figures that the least he can do is be here when John B wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> john b and jj's friendship... perfection:')
> 
> so kiara and pope were both supposed to show up by the end of this butttt clearly that didn't happen. Debating continuing this with scenes where Kie and Pope do come in and have their own turn babysitting john b... we'll see.


End file.
